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I still run hot. That hasn’t changed. Rage lives just under my skin, flaring whenever I think too long about what was done to her. The cameras. The threats. The people who thought her life was theirs to dissect.

But I don’t let it consume me.

I pour it into sound. Into sharp chords and unforgiving lyrics. Into songs she helps shape with soft hands and brave eyes.

And when the day’s done, when I slide into the nest beside her and she sighs like the weight is gone?—

I let it all go.

Because she’s here.

Because she’s safe.

Because every time she reaches for me without flinching, I know she doesn’t need words to understand what’s in my chest.

She knows.

She’s mine.

And I’m hers, in every way that counts.

BLAISE

I never thought I’d get this far.

Not in music. Not in life. Not in love.

I figured I’d burn out early. OD in a hotel room. Get swallowed by the chaos I spent years chasing. Because that’s what I did – chased noise to avoid silence. Piled pleasure on top of pain until I couldn’t tell the difference.

Then she happened.

Evie is everything I never had the words for.

Brave. Sharp. Stubborn as hell.

Soft where it counts. Tough when it matters.

She sings like bleeding on purpose. Like tearing herself open to prove it’s still worth it to feel. And every time she crawls intomy lap, presses her face to my neck and breathes me in like I’m enough – I believe it.

I name the ridiculous pink dragon plushie after myself just to make her laugh. Grow strawberries because she likes the smell. Sit on the floor of her studio while she sings the same verse a dozen ways and never get bored.

She brought me back to myself.

I’m not afraid of losing her anymore.

Because I know, deep down in the bone-deep places where no one ever touched me before?—

She’s ours.

And I’m hers.

EVIANA

The wildflower meadow is just beginning to bloom.

Yellow bursts of buttercup. Pale purple clover. Soft tendrils of new grass reaching for the light. It smells like spring and clean earth and salt from the sea.

Mochi and Gremlin are locked in their daily headbutt battle beside the picnic blanket. Peanut is snoring in Dane’s lap, her little belly rising and falling like she’s dreaming of mischief. Xar’s unpacking the basket like he’s about to stage a five-star lunch service, muttering about proper cheese pairings. To be fair, he probably is. We eat like royalty now, mostly thanks to him.